


Resonance

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Altered Mental States, Dubious Science, Experimental Style, Exposition, Fake Science, Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Growth, Human Experimentation, Id Fic, Just backstory, M/M, Magic, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Metaphysics, Mild Belly Kink, Mind Manipulation, Mutant Powers, No Smut, Other, Psychological Horror, Purple Prose, Resonants, Stream of Consciousness, Technobabble, There is A LOT going on in here, Unethical Experimentation, Weight Gain, Weird Shit, transformation (light)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18406712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: A dutiful young soldier offers himself - body, mind and soul - to the Resonant Project, for the might and glory of his beloved Garlemald. So he has been told - it is his duty, after all, and if it hurts then he will be made stronger for it.He is made stronger, oh, yes. But not strong enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The Resonant Fic. An entirely headcanoned take on the process of creating a Resonant - in the early trials quite a few months before Krile was used as a master subject. Many have died, and this one yet survives. This... Lucius, formerly of the XIVth, and serving in Zenos's Legion by sheer happenstance.
> 
> This is a part of his canon backstory.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You want purple prose? Metaphysics? Fake science? You sure as hell got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of Lucius's backstory - or the part that really matters : When He Got His Resonance!  
> For more information (plus art references and family life) please leave a comment and I'll tell you anything you want to know!

“Vitals are picking up. You may want to look this way, my Lord.”

Aulus can barely restrain the excitement singing through every fiber of his being. The crisp consonants cascade one after the next before coming to a forced halt. Zenos isn’t the type to abide by endless rambling, and so Aulus tempers his joy, stuffs it down into his chest and holds tight to what little sanity he has left. He looks up at the prince through the leftmost lense of his goggles, face carefully schooled in a facsimile of stoicism.

Zenos turns to the man laying spread on the steel table, his arms and legs firmly bolted down with metal cuffs. Faint disinterest registers on his face for he cares not whether the man wakes or perishes. He wants _results_ , and the only results worth noticing are those in his sword arm, currently twitching something awful.

“What’s wrong with him?” Not a hint of concern floats through his velvety smooth voice – he sounds like he’s observing roadkill. “He’s twitching.”

“That’ll be his nerves adjusting to the new aether signature, currently at…” Aulus trails off as he scans one of many floating panels full of scrolling text and sluggish waveforms. “Optimal levels, it seems. Successful implant of supply subjects’ aether has been achieved.” He tosses a glance over his shoulder to the robed assistants hovering by the stasis pods, eight white capsules ringing a central conversion module. “Clean them out.” The assistants turn at once and set to work pulling withered, ashen bodies from the capsules and tossing them into a large crate. Aulus returns his gaze to the shivering test subject, whose face contorts briefly when Zenos leans in. _‘Fascinating…! He seems to be reacting to Lord Zenos’s own Resonance! Oh, I should write this down…’_

The subject lays in the nude, skin pale and scarred from head to toe. Several nodes and wires trail from key points on his body, glowing light blue with every beat of his heart. He is Lucius rem Batiatus, one of Zenos’s most loyal Pilus Priori. And he is in pain. Nerves long forgotten spark anew with raw agony, tingling white-hot beneath his clammy skin. He tenses every muscle in his face to try and wake, to crack open his eyes and take in the world unseen. It’s heavy. So heavy that the mere effort of moving his head leaves him breathless, strength sapped from his very core. But louder than his own anguish is that of another, turbulence beyond the veil of his knowing he can sense screaming, screaming, screaming.

“Please,” he whispers, voiceless and afraid. “Please make it stop.” The words spill unbidden and the sensation dims, replaced soon after by a thousand thousand eyes. He sees them in his mind watching, boring, delving into his prone body. So vulnerable  yet he cannot move, cannot cover himself. His pulse quickens, the nodes flashing dangerously. Aulus watches with a tomestone in hand, taking notes. He doesn’t offer a word of comfort, no, he won’t interfere with the experiment. His job is to observe, and Zenos is the one to meddle. He looms over Lucius with his long blonde hair trailing onto the man’s bared chest, staring directly into his third eye.

“Wake up.”

Thus ordered, Lucius’s eyes snap open. Once gentle opalescent hues now languish in an abyss of black, red-matrixed irises flickering. Zenos hums, the barest hint of a smile bleeding through. There is no joy to be felt. Lucius sees not only the man before him but _inside_ , the gaping maw of apathy having long since swallowed any semblance of a human being. Zenos stares at him.

“What do you see?”

Lucius knows not what answer he must give. He takes a moment – for that is all he has – and thinks, or at least he tries to. Cold and leaden he lies, pinned to the table by exhaustion more powerful than any cuffs could be. The tingling ebbs away, and as long as he focuses on Zenos’s face, it is thoroughly negligible. He sees cheekbones and lashes and brows and a smirk. Why is he smirking when he feels naught?

“Why?”

The smirk fades. Zenos’s eyes flash dangerously and Lucius emits a feeble cry at the sheer _rage_ directed at him. Roiling and fiery and raw, it turns on and off in the space of three seconds. Then, Zenos is all smiles once more. But the anger lurks, prowling the corners of his vision and snapping when Lucius dares to probe. He does not mean to, he merely wonders, but it seems Zenos _knows_ and not even his thoughts are safe from the Garlean Prince.

“What do you feel?” Aulus tries, and both Zenos and Lucius lend him an ear. “Batiatus.”

The moment Lucius shifts focus, he grabs hold of Aulus’s aether signature and feels what he does. Frustration, a lower back ache, and no small degree of repressed excitement.  It sits beside Zenos’s now calm state, quiet enough for Lucius to observe them both. But then he feels his own, barely afloat in a sea of overstimulation. Fear. So much fear. His limbs jerk as he tries to curl in on himself and the table shakes. Zenos quirks a brow up, a note of interest registering in his mind. Lucius tries again, and the note sweetens to genuine curiosity.

“That’s it.” Zenos goads, leaning over once more with his hair forming a curtain around their faces. “You’re a monster now, just like me. Aren’t you?” His intentions muddle together, curiosity and laughter and deep, deep yearning. It’s this that Lucius feels the most, and his eyes open wide to meet Zenos’s sparkling gaze.

“Want,” he breathes. “I _want_.”

“For what?” Zenos’s maddened grin spreads so far it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Do you want to _kill?”_ His own desire throbs and Lucius mirrors it, wrenching his upper body up with unprecedented strength. The motion is autonomous, he doesn’t know he’s moved at all until the pain of crushing his third eye against Zenos’s forehead spears through his brain.

“Ah!!”

Zenos pushes back, uncaring for the sharp prickle spreading through his face. He pushes as hard as he can, daring Lucius to fight back, to rip his bonds apart and destroy. Aulus stares in horror – from where he stands, it looks like they’re doing something awfully inappropriate – and glances to the beeping instruments lined up on the table. The nodes report muscular strength exceeding the control he took a week prior. Strength so great it might actually burst blood vessels that aren’t used to carrying such force.

But with Resonance comes reparations, and Lucius’s body knits tiny tears into whole threads, thick strands of muscle thriving in his arms and chest. His broad shoulders draw back and his wrists redden where the metal bonds scrape his skin raw. The table creaks perilously due to the force of his struggling form. His breath comes in short gasps, Zenos’s fingers closing around his throat to further entice his survival instincts. But the minute Zenos grabs hold, Lucius freezes. He isn’t even squeezing, just lightly holding on with his gauntleted hand and Lucius’s pulse has reached 140. Blood trickles from the bunched up skin of his wrists as the cuffs cut into him. He doesn’t feel it.

_Afraid._

_Joyous._

_Yearning._

Conflicting emotions assault his mind, shutting off his cognition in favor of soaking up Zenos’s intent. It clashes with his own – his life is in danger, he can’t breathe, his chest is tight, he can’t fight back, why can’t he fight back? Why won’t he move? He goes limp, paralyzed by the sheer force of Zenos’s will. And Zenos runs his tongue across his lips like a man starved, chuckling deep within his chest. Aulus’s fear washes over him cold and wet. All he can do is lay there, Zenos holding him up by the neck like a scrawny kitten left out in the rain. Zenos shakes him, and he doesn’t respond.

“My Lord, I do think you’ve scared him half to death. Might I persuade you to put him down?” Aulus winces at the look Zenos shoots his way. Murderous, cruel, possessive. “W-we need to… give him time to regain his, er, mental faculties, so he may speak of what he’s experiencing.”

“He sees me.” Zenos growls, dropping Lucius with an unceremonious _plap_ onto the table. “As I see him. He has the prediction qualities needed to succeed in battle, and will grow used to them in time.”

“Just like you did.” Aulus nods, fiddling with his tomestone. “If you don’t mind…” He nudges past Zenos’s gargantuan form, a mere sliver of a man compared to the Prince. Zenos lets him take a look at Lucius, Aulus’s deft hands reattaching fallen nodes to the subject’s sweat-slick chest. “Mm. Need to discharge his freeze response.” Aulus pats Lucius on the cheek, where the left side of his jaw is covered in old shrapnel scars. “Come on. Back into the world of the living.”

Lucius doesn’t respond, his eyes now white and rolled up into his head. His heart rate eases back into the nineties, and he succumbs to the sweet sleep of unconsciousness. So inundated with information, his brain has little choice but to turn itself off for self preservation purposes. Aulus understands this, but worries deeply that something’s gone wrong. An unconscious subject is usually as good as a dead one.

Zenos observes Lucius with the same disinterest he wears in day to day life. But below the surface lurks his insatiable curiosity, wakened by the sensation of like minds connecting. Of _kinship_ . Zenos has never fought anyone who could stand against his superhuman predictive capabilities. And judging by how quickly Lucius seemed to react to his innermost thoughts? His _feelings_ that he himself had a tenuous grasp on? Well, they just _had_ to clash blades sometime. Rank and file be damned.

“Call me when he wakes.” Zenos mutters, turning to leave. “I’d like to trade words with him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit weird but whatever lol  
> also might add more imagery later once I unlock Ala Mhigo and can take some caps in there

Lucius awakens to gentle golden sunlight dancing upon his face, to cream walls and gossamer curtains. He lifts his head and a whimper slips through his lips unbidden – still, he aches. But at least it’s in much kinder surroundings than being strapped to a table and taunted by a Galvus. The brightness doesn’t hurt as much as his body, heavy and sluggish despite having rested a good three days. He manages to sit and push his face into his hands, third eye peeping between slim fingers.

“Mnnhhh…”

The fatigue is a near constant companion now that he’s twice the aether in a body barely able to sustain it. He knows not how much Zenos and Aulus pumped into him, but the sensation beneath his skin feels like _too much_ . When he moves his eyes - _too much_ . When he tries to corral his thoughts into something sensible - _far, far too much_.

It’s a blessing, then, that this room should be warded against external aetherical influence. The sun rays float mere light and warmth through the arched window and none of the heavily aspected fire one would feel outside. Fire to a sensitive, newborn Resonant and mere sticky heat to anyone else. Lucius runs both hands back through his hair, sweeping the silken strands along the sides of his head. Is he no longer under quarantine? Is that why he’s here, in this pleasant dayroom with an Ala Mhigan gown on instead of nothing? He stands with some effort and leans against the bed, half crouched with back muscles spasming. His white undershirt clings most unpleasantly, a little too tight around the waist and chest. His beige breeches flounce about his ankles, a sensation he’s uncomfortably aware of. By the Emperor, he’s aware of it _all_. The blood rushing through his ears and pulsing behind his eyes whenever he moves his head. The twisting of his empty stomach and dryness in his throat. The feeling of his very being like thin, spindly fingers reaching ever-outwards, grasping something new to bring into his mind’s eye.

But he doesn’t want it. He wants _peace_.

For now, the closest he can get is the relative stillness here in this solitary room. The difference is striking compared to the lab, where he was constantly under assault by the whims of those around him. Zenos’s yearning. Aulus’s nerves. The thinly veiled horror of the assistant medics. Hell, even his own fear wanted for space in his overstuffed brain case. Here, he has enough time to sit by himself and try to sort things out.

Thirty minutes pass. And all he can think of is this:

_‘I want food.’_

He stands looking straight at the door, hesitant to do so much as approach it for what could await on the other side. When has he been so afraid? He does not know. It must have something to do with the Resonance – aware of all until he isn’t, and then crippled with fear of the unknown. There he stands, stock still for five whole minutes until he hears a _click_.

The door opens. In walks a woman of six fulms pushing a three-tiered cart, her sandy blonde hair tied in a bun. Garlean, mixed – Lucius knows this on first sight, taking an unprompted reading of her aethers. The door shuts before anything else can leech in and the woman smiles softly.

“Rem Batiatus. It’s good to see you awake.” She salutes, crisp and clean in her white lab coat. “The Praefectus said you’d be hungry, so I’ve brought you a little something.” A gesture to the trolley, the topmost shelf carrying bowls of stew, noodles and assorted meaty bits. “See anything you like?”

Lucius has to actively restrain himself from faceplanting into the stew, and shakily reaches out for it. The woman lifts it with a nod and puts it on the nearby table, one of the few furniture pieces in the room.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

He doesn’t care. He scoots into the chair and practically inhales the stew, focus narrowed to the glorious sustenance he’s been denied for days. The woman silently takes a clipboard from the trolley, where a few medical implements had been covering it. She only pauses to set the remaining foodstuffs within Lucius’s reach, and continues scribing down his behaviors in a swirling hand. Life surges through Lucius with every bite, and he eats and eats until his stomach groans in protest and the bowls are thoroughly scraped clean. He blinks, mildly flustered. Then a hand comes to take the empty dishes and he looks up as if awaiting orders. He can’t sense anything more than a dutiful neutrality when he looks into the woman’s eyes, but the second he tries probing further, a note of fear chirps out at him. His black and red gaze startles her, the fright on her face a fleeting shadow soon gracefully set aside.

“Does that feel better?” She murmurs, bent a little to meet his eye level. Staring into the glowing Resonance is like sticking her head in a tiger’s mouth – he knows every move she could possibly make, even before she’s made it. But she won’t hurt him. Not on purpose, anyway.

Lucius nods quietly, shifting in his seat. “I… I was really hungry. How long has it been?”

“Three days since you last woke.” She taps on the clipboard, bringing it to his attention. “You gave us quite a scare, falling unconscious like that.”

Lucius flicks his gaze about, eyes lingering on the nametag pinned to the woman’s pristine jacket. _Domitia j. Civilis_ is engraved into the thin cermet slab. He goes to say something and abruptly flinches when Domitia’s hand draws near his face, reacting a half-second before it makes contact. She withdraws at once and scribbles on the clipboard.

“Decent reaction time…”

Lucius’s heart sinks. Of _course_ the experiment isn’t over yet. The door’s probably going to stay locked until Domitia gets whatever results she wants, and then… and then what?

“Are you in any pain at all?” She looks him over, at the flush in his cheeks and the cant of his hips. He’s breathing thinly, no doubt due to having stuffed himself near senseless. “Come, stand up for me.”

He vastly outranks her and yet he obeys, rising to his feet with a soft grunt. Her hands cold and smooth come to steady his shoulders and he twitches, offering no resistance. “There we go.” Domitia easily shifts him about, a hand to his lower back pushing ever so slightly. “Straighten up.”

“Ngk.” He does so, shamefully aware of how far his stomach sticks out, of how uncoordinated he is. But he’s no longer exhausted to the point of being unable to move, and settles into parade rest on instinct.

“There’s a good boy.” Domitia croons, sweeping her touch along the planes of his back covered by his thin linen gown. “Anything here?”

“Nn-nn.” He shakes his head, not even the slightest itch to be felt where once there were nodes firmly attached to his body. His nerves seem to have stopped tingling, too, and as long as he stays still it doesn’t hurt _that_ much. He’s felt worse – much, much worse, the memories of a few days past still living beneath his skin. Domitia abruptly pokes at his lower back and he squeaks. “Eep!”

“Oh, tender?” She lifts his gown and shirt to have a look, but spies no discoloration or fresh scarring. “Mm. Must be your muscles still adjusting to the infusion.” A few more notes on the clipboard.

Lucius peers at her, brows knitted together. “What… exactly did they _do_ to me?”

“Oh, mal Asina didn’t tell you?” Domitia tilts her head. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t, most can’t comprehend the process. You wouldn’t happen to know much about aetherology and biochemistry, would you?”

Lucius quietly lowers his head. “In… layman’s terms, please.”

Domitia clicks her tongue and cups Lucius’s head from behind, feeling a few key points around his skull. “Poor thing. You were the one that volunteered, remember?” There aren’t any protrusions or soft spots here, but Lucius whines nonetheless. “Pain?”

“Uhuh.”

“What kind? I need to know, just in case it’s something serious. Side-effects and whatnot.” Her aethers sit comfortably at rest, but Lucius’s own pick up in a whirl of jagged shards.

“Side-effects? Like what? I’ve been having such _awful_ pain in my back and shoulders and neck… and my _head_ , it’s…”

“Go on.” Domitia’s left hand scrawls across the clipboard as fast as Lucius speaks.

“It – I don’t understand it. It’s like I can hear other people’s thoughts, not as words, but.. but like I’m feeling it, myself. And it just _hurts_ all over-”

“How? Squeezing, throbbing, what?” She overlooks the extra-sensory perception in favor of figuring out what physical symptoms Lucius has experienced. He turns and squints at her, stricken.

“I don’t know… like it’s doing this.” He makes a spasming motion with his fingers, hands closing together then opening up into a loosely clawed form.

“And how is it now?”

Lucius lowers his eyelids. “A little better.”

“We’ll have to do some more testing. I’ll come and see you in a few hours, alright?” Domitia notes the discomfort on his face and sighs. “It won’t hurt all that much. Be strong, rem Batiatus. For Garlemald.” She pats him on the shoulder and writes something else on her clipboard before exiting, trolley pulled along behind her. He slumps into bed the moment the door closes and he’s alone with his mind once more. His body wants to move and so he shifts around some, settling on one side with his face turned to the wall.

_‘What’s… wrong with me?’_

 


	3. Chapter 3

A few hours pass in which Lucius finds a mere sliver of rest, troubled sometime in the evening by a distant presence. At least it _feels_ far away, shrouded in mist and prickling at the edges of his consciousness.

“Take the reading.”

“He’s asleep…”

“Did I stutter, Civilis?”

A beep, and then Lucius is awake with his hands in front of his face, scrunched up in a corner. Aulus raises his brows, his quadruple lensed goggles whirring to adjust their focus.

“Oh, that’s new.” A curious smile quirks at his lips as he holds out one hand for the device. Domitia gives it to him, the palm-sized rectangle still with its antenna glowing ceruleum blue. Aulus points it at Lucius who shrinks away, hands clawing at his hair. He turns it off a moment later. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

Lucius exhales. The white-hot agony ebbs away the longer he holds his face down, knees tucked close to his chest. Aulus says something but he doesn’t hear it, focussed instead on anticipating the next attack. That’s how his body reads it – a threat, one to ward against, and ward he does by curling up into a little ball.

Aulus frowns. “You’re not supposed to be _that_ sensitive...” He looks at the device, a simple aether resonator used to send out energy waves and receive information from whatever it hits. It’s at a strength of two bars out of five, displaying a reading in line with Lucius’s projected capacity for aether. The same capacity Aulus used as a baseline when infusing the man with the life energy of _ten people_. “Look up for me.”

Lucius doesn’t. He emits a soft sound like a kitten waking from a long nap, dampened by palpable fear. Domitia wants to say something, hell, she’s no Resonant but she knows pain when she sees it, and Aulus just takes a step closer and puts the device on the bed.

“It’s just a resonator. Come, you’re overreacting. Try to focus on something, say, me?” He moves to smack Lucius on the cheek and stops just before making contact. Lucius flinches, but hasn’t the room to properly dodge. Enticed, Aulus does it again from a different angle and Lucius just about knocks him off the bed with the force of his shove. Aulus loses his goggles and an incredulous laugh bubbles from his lips.

“Aha! Now _there’s_ that strength!” He watches Lucius crawl out of bed and back up against the wall. “Civilis, you’d best start recording this.”

Lucius’s eyes flick to her, red stars in a sea of pitch. She takes a half step back, very aware of the sudden danger – this is a man who can move faster than she can even comprehend, and Aulus wants to _play_ with him?

Heedless of the threat Lucius poses, Aulus takes the resonator in hand and wiggles it around. “For reference, your aethers are stable at the optimal recalibrated level. Ten times stronger than before, isn’t that _wonderful_?”

Lucius, in his heightened state of awareness, freezes. Aulus’s joy dances around him like a cloud of caffeinated moogles, nowhere near as infectious in memory as Zenos’s yearning, his hate. It stands in stark contrast to Domitia’s raw fear, both hanging at the forefront of Lucius’s mind. But more than the sensing of their emotions is a _feeling_ , a constantly updating, ticking notion that _something’s going to happen_ . He listens to it, gives in to the screaming voice and his hyperfocus narrows further. Aulus points the device at him and he’s going to turn it up a notch, but it’ll hurt, and he _does not want it to._ He doesn’t even think about rushing forward and knocking the device from Aulus’s hand – he scoops up the bedside table by the lip and throws it into the man’s face. Aulus takes it right to the forehead and hits the wall, nearly falling out the window the way his torso wrenches backwards. Domitia shrieks and Lucius already has his ears covered, eyes scrunched shut. Aulus gets up grinning like the madman that he is, hair a complete mess.

“Wonderful!”

“What… what’ve you done to me?” Lucius whispers, and hears the response before it leaves Aulus’s lips. “It’s not meant to be like this.”

“But of course it is, my little super soldier!” Aulus spreads his arms out wide. The resonator lies on the floor. “What fantastic reflexes you have!”

“That,” Lucius points to the device. “What is it.”

“A-”

“It hurts.”

Aulus blinks. “Well, naturally any aetherical interference on your freshly infused body _will_ hurt somewhat, but-”

“She said it wouldn’t.” He points to Domitia, who has enough wits to look offended. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, calm down, would you?” Aulus’s annoyance leeches into Lucius’s perception, colors him just a shade more threatning. “I’ll tell you once we get the tests over and done with, so we’re not just making baseless assumptions about your condition.”

“Tests,” Lucius repeats in the exact same tone. “What tests?” Everything’s happening too fast. He asks questions and doesn’t understand the answers. He processes them, yes, and his mouth speaks things, but there’s no peace, the peace of knowledge, belief and trust. It’s all… superficial, speedy and false. _Too much_.

Aulus looks at him. Makes the conscious decision to stay still and silent for ten seconds. Lucius looks right back, and then glances at Domitia.

Nobody moves.

Slowly, his mind calms. It goes from being hyper-aware of what the others will _do_ and instead looks at what they feel. This at least is somewhat familiar, as familiar as his initial awakening with a faceful of Zenos could be, anyway. Domitia’s aethers draw close to her form, flowing throughout her body in the purest picture of health and self-preservation. Aulus on the other hand is tense, calculating, and entices Lucius to peer deeper just from the stillness of his pose. Lucius steps forth, squinting into the man’s third eye. It squints right back at him, and Aulus blinks.

“You’re reading me.”

Lucius sucks in a sharp breath. He’s higher ranked, it shouldn’t be a problem, but he’s critically aware that he has no power here. Not after he decked the Praefectus Medicorum with a goddamn table.

“I… am?”

“Yes.” Aulus folds his fingers together, heedless of the bruise appearing just below his hairline. “That’s what Resonants _do_ , my boy. You’re just learning about it, and if you’d please not toss that bed in my direction, I’ll tell you all about it.” Taking the slow and gentle approach seems to work better than straight up screwing around, and Lucius ever so slightly lowers his guard. He sits as bidden when Aulus gestures to the bed, still very much aware of the resonator laying on the floor. Even without looking, he’s got a handle on Aulus’s aethers. Distinct from Domitia’s as it lines up with his outward expressions; the way he moves isn’t that of a cornered beast. Domitia looks about ready to turn tail and flee, her signature just as jumpy.

“Don’t be afraid.” Lucius speaks without thinking, and Aulus stares at him. His confusion distracts Lucius enough to pull away from reading Domitia (now also staring) and unconsciously working to soothe her. “…What?”

“It seems,” Aulus begins, “That your perception extends beyond the realm of the physical. Now – as I’m sure you know, Aether is the energy that runs through all living beings. It can be monitored and read by that little instrument there,” He points to the resonator and Lucius eyes it warily. “And it can also be put through my machines for easy readability. Your signature – that is, the sum of all your body’s aether – has been augmented, made more _powerful_ , more **_vibrant_ ** through the process.”

Lucius goes to interrupt him with a question but Aulus holds up a finger, silencing him. His eyes flick to the finger’s position before it’s even raised.

“The aim of the process is to grant you the power to use your own aether -supplemented by the infusion we gave you – and wield magicks just like the other races. How it works is that you concentrate your willpower on exuding some sort of force, pushing the energy out in a consolidated form. Commonly it takes on an elemental aspect, as fighting with raw aether can quite literally kill you. Using it to sense as you’ve done… tell me, do you make a conscious effort? Or does it just _happen_?”

“It’s… listening.” Lucius says, still processing Aulus’s lengthy explanation. “Like an extra set of ears. I can’t… turn it off.”

“And when you look at me, like you did just then?” Aulus leans in and Lucius leans back. “You can’t help but take a reading of my aethers, hm?”

“What do you see?” Domitia asks from her corner of the room, clipboard held close to her chest. Lucius’s gaze roves to her, blackened as he takes a reading.

“You fear me.” His face crumples like a wet cloth being wrung. “Why?”

“About that.” Aulus draws his attention once more. “Due to your… precognition – that is, the way you listen in on others’ signatures and react according to their whims-” He abruptly slaps Lucius across the face with his fingertips, and the man dodges instantly. “Like that. You didn’t know I was going to do that, and you dodged it anyway. And I didn’t give much indication, did I?”

Lucius frowns. “Please don’t.”

“No, but my _aethers_ did. The ongoing pattern of my signature alters with every muscle I move or plan to, regardless of whether or not I draw back-” Another slap, and this time Lucius _catches_ it. He doesn’t let go, firmly staring into Aulus’s eyes. “Well. You get the point, I trust?”

Lucius nods. He sets the now reddened wrist into Aulus’s lap and straightens up, noting a flicker of fear pass through his mind. He smiles softly, sadly.

“You are scared too.”

It cries louder, trapped beneath the full weight of Aulus’s forced composure. “I’d be a fool not to.” Aulus rubs at his wrist with mild interest. “You’re definitely stronger, that’s for sure. I’ll have you do the grip test again tomorrow.”

“Why does it hurt?” Lucius asks of himself, and as usual Aulus has the answers.

“Your body and mind both need time to grow accustomed to functioning with all that extra aether in there. It’ll probably take a few weeks, but-”

“That.” Lucius points to the resonator. “What does it do?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Aulus rubs at his jaw. “Mm, therein lies the problem. I took a reading of your aethers and you seemed to be in pain.”

“It felt like I was being crushed.” Lucius runs his hands back through his soft blonde hair, the roots tingling. “Like some huge _thing_ was…” The scratching of Domitia’s pen on paper stops.

“Go on?” Aulus prompts, but Lucius just shakes his head. “Haah. Mayhap your cells are still open to external influence, and the resonator’s sensing field overburdened them. It’ll take four months to completely stabilize your-”

“Why the FUCK did you test that thing on me now?!” Lucius fiercely cuts through the air with a sharp hand and Aulus flinches. “Do you have **_any_ **idea how much it hurts?!”

“Well, no, not really, we’ve never actually had a Resonant other than Lord Zenos live this long…”

Lucius puts his face in his hands. “Four months. Four months I’m going to be stuck in here, waiting for my thrice-damned _cells_ to regenerate.”

“It’s complicated,” Aulus admits. “We had to pierce each and every cell wall for the infusion to take place and also replace some of your blood…”

“Oh, I don’t _care_ !” Up on his feet, Lucius tries to ignore Aulus’s mounting discomfort, Domitia’s skittishness. “I thought you knew what you were doing! When I woke up with Lord Zenos _feeling_ at me I almost died!”

“Yes, I thought you had, but- now wait just a moment, I know _perfectly_ well what I’m doing.” Aulus sounds mightily cross and rises, arms folded. “Lest you forget, you’d still be unconscious and strapped to a table if it wasn’t for me.”

“And you’d be decapitated if I could bloody see straight!” Lucius shrieks at him now, near hysterical and gesturing all over the place. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this? I just want it to be _quiet_ , both of you, leave!”

“Calm _down_ , boy, it’s an _experiment_ , you-”

**_“THAT’S AN ORDER!!!”_ **

Aulus winces. Such volume from such a pretty little mouth ill suits the Pilus, and despite taking orders from Zenos alone, he doesn’t want to fuck with a hyper-strung Resonant. Domitia won’t be able to tranquilize him – hell, they don’t have any blood samples recent enough to even suggest if it’ll work, or if he’ll just rip it out and throw it back. Lucius is growing into his Resonance day by day, and Aulus _really_ doesn’t want to have to execute him.

 _If_ he can.

“Very well.” Aulus bends to pick up his resonator and Lucius twitches a leg, every fiber of his being wanting to kick it aside. But he doesn’t, using what little self control he has left to keep from tearing the man to shreds. Domitia scurries behind Aulus who has the resonator now in his pocket – he’s smart enough to not try using it to disable Lucius, having seen the Resonant’s reflexes firsthand. Well, table-to-face-hand.

“Write down something about that anger.” Aulus can be heard instructing Domitia as they leave the room. “Terrible thing, that.”

“We should put some ice on your…” The door closes.

Lucius leans against it, staring up at the ceiling. His ever-listening Resonance has gone cold and silent, leaving only his own thoughts to confer with each other.

_‘You sound like Father.’_

_‘Oh, I wonder how he’s doing? Has he found out about Quintus yet?’_

_‘Does it matter? Focus on the task at hand. What are you meant to be doing?What does Garlemald require other than roasting in Ala Mhigo?’_

_‘What would Lord van Baelsar do?’_

_‘Why the hell am I hungry again?’_

He presses a hand to his stomach, soft and warm beneath the thin fabric of his undershirt. The thought strikes him then that someone must’ve dressed him, shifted him about, seen all sorts of things he’d rather they not. He winces. The perks of being an experiment, eh?

_‘I’ll… wait a little and then go outside. I’m not exactly stuck here, am I?’_

One hand on the doorknob reveals just that.

_‘Oh, shit.’_

 


	4. Chapter 4

Domitia comes to visit him the next morning, with the exact same food Lucius stuffs into his face like he’s been starved for a month. She doesn’t speak or touch or otherwise intrude, waiting until he’s done and looking in her direction.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, clipboard held to her chest and eyes fixed on the man’s sideward gaze. “Was that enough?”

“Barely.” Lucius mutters, leaning back in the chair. “Rrgh…” That familiar heaviness has returned to him, but lives in the core of his body rather than weighing down his limbs. It is… comforting, somewhat, to not have raw hunger gnawing at his insides and keeping him in perpetual distress. He doesn’t like how bloated he looks, old insecurities nagging at the back of his mind, but as long as Domitia doesn’t roast him, he’ll be fine.

Hopefully.

“Your body is adjusting, and needs a bit more sustenance than usual for aetherial upkeep.” Domitia informs him with a slight smile.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what that is.” Lucius stands, turning to her ever so slightly. “Tell me, when will I be allowed out of here?”

“It depends.” She flips a page over the clipboard with an impassive look on her face. “The rehabilitation process can start as soon as you’re willing. You’ll have to contend with your Resonance listening in on every other signature for yalms, possibly malms. Though according to mal Asina, it’s quite unlikely. Your sensitivity needs to be watched, though. As well as, ahm.” She mumbles under her breath. “Your aggression.”

Lucius tenses his jaw. “I didn’t _mean_ to throw the table at him.”

“I know, dear, you panicked. But imagine if it had been Lord Zenos?”

Lucius imagines throwing the eight-five Legatus into a wall and shivers. “He’d probably enjoy it.”

“…We’ll have to see about that. If you’d like to follow me, we can get you a bit of outside stimulation.” Domitia reaches for his hand and he snaps it out of reach in an instant.

“Do you _have_ to be so clinical?” He hears the string of words she writes down on the clipboard _– 34% more talkative, 55% more snappy_ – and scowls. “I’m not _snappy_.”

Domitia glances at him. “Do you _mind_?”

“Very much so. You lot have been…” He trails off. They’ve been treating him like a test subject, which is _exactly what he is_. “…I don’t like it.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Any complaints should be directed to-”

Lucius abruptly skirts her arm’s reach and heads for the door. She stands there watching as he pulls it open, doesn’t even stick his face out, and shuts it again. His entire expression seems fixed in a grimace, like he’s just opened a can of tinned meat and found a dead rat instead.

“You feel…?”

“That.” He points to the door. “What in seven hells was _that_.”

“That,” Domitia says, “Is the world outside this aetherically isolated test environment. Now tell me, how did it feel?”

Lucius doesn’t have a single word for it – not now, his ears still ringing with a hundred thousand voices and thoughts and emotions. The crushing sensation is back, heavy upon his chest and closing in on his mind. Mercifully, it ceases at the door’s closing and every passing second in the sealed room gives the pain time to ebb into nothingness.

The implications of this bleed through the veil of his conscious effort to _just not think_ . He can’t go outside. Just peeping out the door nearly sent him to the floor in shock. The same shock he felt when newly awoken, infused, _reborn_. What if he’s stuck in here for the rest of his life?

“Rem Batiatus.”

He turns to her, eyes wide and glistening. “You’ve ruined me.” he mouths, and Domitia’s heart breaks.

“Oh, dear, I know.” She goes to console him and he doesn’t flinch, paralyzed where he stands. “I know it feels like too much, that’s why we’ll do it at your pace. Let you integrate with the outside world bit by bit.”

“No,” he breathes, head down. “I can’t.”

“Your body’s still very raw, as are your senses. Please, just give it time. I’ll check on you every day-”

Lucius shakes his head. “No. No, nn. Nnnn…gh…” His hands come up to his face again and he claws at his hair. “Stop it.” His eyes glow bright from beneath furrowed brows, fixed on Domitia. “Stop feeling sorry for me.”

She tries to hide it, but her feelings remain and even seep into the realm of distress the more Lucius squirms. Eager to pull him out of his sudden misery, she gathers a few items from the trolley’s bottom shelf.

“Look, here. I’ve brought you some things.” She puts them on the desk – a three ilm thick drawing pad, assorted writing implements, and a decent selection of Ala Mhigan publications (it’s all Garlean propaganda). “I know it’s difficult to be locked in here all day, but it won’t last forever. Will you be alright for the next twelve hours or so?” Domitia gazes at him in earnest and Lucius senses it – she only wants him to be _well_ , and he feels everything but. He gives a shallow nod and turns away. At least he has something to do now, if not to distract him until the experiment continues.

When Domitia next arrives, Lucius is too hungry to sleep and instead laying face down in bed, spread out flat. He rises not to the scent of a warm meal however, as there’s nothing for him to eat on that steel trolley. The top shelf is empty, and it’s being pushed by a Magitek Claw under Domitia’s control. He sits up with a jolt and eyes the thing warily, its presence grating on his nerves.

“What’s going on?”

Domitia smiles at him gently, pulling out two tall bottles from her deep coat pockets. “Forgive me,” she lies, “My shoulders aren’t what they used to be.” It _is_ late, and she _does_ look tired, and Lucius is far too distracted by the minimal aethers swirling around the ceruleum-powered Claw to take a proper reading. The thing clicks its fingers at him and he squints.

Domitia approaches him with both of the bottles held out, each containing a half-pint of transparent fluid. “Please drink these. They’re natural solutions meant to expedite your recovery, to promote growth and health.”

Lucius looks at them, sensing nothing through the glass. “Nice commercial.” He mutters, and takes one in a hand just large enough to wrap around the entire bottle. “But these don’t look all that natural to me.”

“If you were expecting something green and unpleasant, perish the thought. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She pets him on the cheek and he looks up, brows drawn together. He did not feel the need to flinch, nor any sort of overwhelming fear. Suspicion, yes, but…

“Mngh.” He uncorks the bottle and drinks, thirsty enough to empty the entire thing’s contents into his stomach. It tastes like nothing, but it’s cold, as is the other one which goes down seconds later. He’s long since trained himself to take in vast quantities of liquid due to the dangers of dehydration in Gyr Abania, one of the hottest places in Eorzea to be stationed in. His position affords him more frequent breaks than his subordinates, but they’re still scant enough to require expedited resupplying whenever he gets a chance to eat. Now, with his belly full and not a scrap of actual food in sight, he shifts into a sitting position over the side of the bed. The liquid sloshes audibly inside him and he squirms, the slightest inkling of nausea creeping up from his core. Domitia sets the empty bottles on the trolley and sits beside him, gracefully tucking her lab coat beneath her thighs. It seems a practiced motion, like she’s used to accompanying those abed to deliver very serious information.

By now, Lucius has adapted somewhat to the Claw’s presence and realizes that it won’t do anything to him, its aethers weighted by no thoughts, feelings or actions. It simply hovers idly, awaiting instructions. So he settles on reading Domitia, and not a moment too soon when her right hand slides down his back and settles around his waist. She’s warm, around his height and strangely calm. _Very_ strangely indeed.

“I need to run some tests.” She says quietly, keeping a loose hold around the man’s generous figure. “They won’t hurt, but I need your permission.”

The respect strikes him as odd. “When have you ever… before?” He blinks a few times, eyes a fraction out of sync. When he turns to try and look at her, the sluggish motion plants his face into her shoulder and he grunts softly. “Mnh…?”

“Shhh…” Domitia’s other hand comes around and strokes his hair, drawing him to rest in her bosom not entirely unlike a certain eikon. “I know. You want to rest, don’t you? Sleep…” Her fingers circle into his scalp, sending pleasant tingles through the roots of his hair. He groans softly, tries to say something, anything – but his blurred vision is going black and her chest is so _warm_ , so soft…

Domitia hauls him up and gives him a good shake to make sure he’s asleep. Her manner changes, all duty and diligence as she takes a length of woven carbon fiber from her pocket and ties it around him. It acts as a harness, evenly binding his limbs and leaving enough space for his more tender parts to hang free. Then, she rests him on his face and calls to the Claw.

“Come.”

It picks up the center of Lucius’s bindings and carries him to the trolley, where he lays belly-up with some amount of maneuvering on Domitia’s part. Off they go out of the blissful aetherproof isolation and through the infirmary halls, down to Aulus’s lab.

Aulus takes one look at the bound Resonant and clicks his tongue at Domitia. “Tch, I see your Hingan nature has not yet left you.”

“It’s convenient.” She replies evenly, “Shibari.”

“Whatever.” Aulus shoves his kinky misperceptions into some cobwebbed corner of his brain and waves his hand around. “Undo it. Take notes.”

Domitia’s already untying each knot and has her clipboard ready a moment later. Aulus calls for three assistants to move Lucius onto the examining table, the very same one he’d been bound to last week. They don’t secure him to it, though. They take accurate measurements of his proportions for Domitia to write down, and then four vials of blood from his right arm. While his face remains completely slack, Aulus taking a reading of his body reveals no small amount of aetherial turmoil. Each and every cell within him vibrates dangerously in accordance with the influences present– people, machines, a good supply of crystals in the box close to the door… Even as he sleeps, his Resonance listens. It does not process, but listens.

“Oh, you’ll be sore on the morrow.” Aulus mutters, setting the handheld device aside. “Moderate agitation due to aetherial sensitivity, five signatures and operating machina.” He gives Domitia ten seconds to write that down and then continues his assessment. “No discoloration in the eyes while unconscious… no change in skin texture, no evidence of external or internal wounds…” He motions to a masked assistant. “Prep him for the A-Ray.”

“Yes, Sir.”

In the next five minutes, Lucius is stripped and re-dressed in a gown that feels like nothing, paper-thin and hanging from his shoulders. Domitia watches the assistants manhandle him into a large, tube-shaped machine with several node-lined coils rotating around its length. His head is left to stick out, soon covered by an opaque helmet connected to oxygen and a few other tubes. It’s to protect him from the energies emitted by the Ray, but if his body has any sort of reaction, it’ll show in the progressive scan. Aulus won’t mess with his brain just yet – he’s long since learned his lesson in that regard. He gives the order to turn it on and the whole lab goes dark, power diverted from non-essential systems into the Ray. The assistants look away from the eyesearing blue glow and instead turn their attention to one of the many screens showing Lucius’s prone body, which trembles as the scan goes on. Aulus chews on his lower lip. It’ll hurt a _lot_ when Lucius wakes, but it has to be done. The man would be screaming now were he awake, and Aulus simply doesn’t have time for that. Neither does his still-aching body from being yeeted into a wall.

“Alright.” After a good ten minutes, he signals to turn the Ray off. “Start processing.” It’ll take an hour or so for all the data to come together and make a nice cross-section of Lucius’s body, so Aulus can see what’s going on inside without having to cut him open. Of course, he _can_ do that with relative ease, but the A-Ray is just so much _better_ at it.

In the meantime, he sets about giving Domitia some new orders. “I want you to take his height and weight twice daily, once in the morning and once in the evening before meals. According to the measurements, he’s up four ponzes with no increase in height. His body seems to be adapting reasonably well…” His lips quirk up at the corners. “Due in part to his age. Such an elastic young lad. Oh, how I wish we’d gotten our hands on you sooner!” He gazes at Lucius, now on the table once more and lacking the protective helmet. Aulus pokes around inside his mouth, presses on his chest slightly and listens for any irregular breathing, any heightened pulse. He finds nothing out of order – no blood, unusual dryness or suspicious raised areas. Domitia watches him with an unreadable expression, face schooled into stoicism despite her internal misgivings. Aulus is at least somewhat careful with the unconscious Resonant, ungloved hands continuing to feel the outside of his body. “Unbelievable. No growths or mutations.” He sounds thoroughly pleased, up until a few seconds pass without Domitia writing this down. “ _Scribe_ , woman. By the Emperor.” He rolls his eyes and then falls upon the sight of a few red lines by Lucius’s waist and thighs. “Hm…?”

“Stretching, Sir.” Domitia offers. “His calorie requirements far exceed his stomach capacity.”

“Oh. Well, there’s no harm in that.” Aulus gives the man’s gut a good squeeze and it dips ever so slightly. “My. Enough of this and he’ll be a walking fuel tank.”

“Has to store all that aether somewhere.” Domitia mutters. “Conservation of mass and all that.”

Aulus quirks a brow. “So you _have_ been paying attention.” They’d infused Lucius with ten times his body’s natural aether during the process, up until the point where his cells near burst from the strain of containing it all. Said cells had no choice but to multiply, facilitating the ongoing growth of his enhanced body. But they needed physical energy to do that with – the likes of which could only be found in organic, non crystal-based sustenance. Solid food. And they needed a _lot_. “What do you think of his projected capacity?”

“Too early to tell.” Domitia doesn’t want to be wrong, so she plays it down, looks away. “Need more data.”

“Indeed!” Hands clasped together, Aulus checks over the one screen with various graphs relating to Lucius’s body. The width of his biceps, calves, shoulders and so on has the most minor uptick, along with his weight, bone and muscle density (up by one, point-three and two percents respectively). “He’s still got room to grow. Not just here,” A gesture to the lower half, “But here.” To his shoulders. “Imagine if he ended up as tall as Lord Zenos! Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Incredibly painful, for one.” Domitia says, her tone crisp and far removed from any sort of enthusiasm. “Did not Lord Zenos undergo the process as a child?”

“Apparently so. But that,” Aulus taps the side of his head, “Is classified. You’re free to ask him yourself, though.” He laughs when Domitia whips her head around as if Zenos is right behind her. “Later. Dress him, and take him back.” A gesture to Lucius, then he turns away. With orders given, he has no need for idle conversation or other pleasantries. No, there’s _data_ that needs processing and not a soul in the world will keep him from it.

 


End file.
